Archive of Our Own

*

‘Stay still.’

The child freezes. Compliant. Submissive.

He grinds his teeth together as the electrodes approach but he can’t stop himself from flinching away before they touch him. He hears the closest man - the one with a bushy moustache - let out a ‘tsk’ sound, clearly annoyed by his small rebellion.

Metal touches skin and the boy’s body arcs up, strained beyond natural limits. A few seconds later, he’s crumpled on the floor, whimpering softly. The men ignore him, studying their readings.

‘His vitals are holding well. It’s good. He’s smaller than we aimed for but he’s resilient. And his cognitive results have been above average,’ the man at the computer screen says. He has a bald shiny head that reflects the brutal white lights of the laboratory.
‘Who cares? He’s no good if he’s not obedient,’ Bushy answers.
‘Indeed. That’s a problem.’
‘He moves away every time. Punishing him has made no difference.’
‘Maybe we should just scrap that batch.’
‘We might have to, but we shouldn’t rush it. Not until we find where it went wrong. If we end up with another unruly crop, the brass might try to scapegoat us.’

The child is silent now. He lies on his side on the cold tiles. Waiting. The metallic taste of blood fills his mouth. He knows from experience the session is nearly over. For that one day.

‘Do we need more readings?’ Baldie asks.
‘I don’t think so. With the ones from yesterday, that should do it.’
‘Fine. I’ll take him back, source us some coffee.’
‘You got it. I’ll send the intern on a run.’

The child understands enough to get to his feet. He’s remarkably steady despite his ordeal, but he curls his arm around his torso to hold his ribs.

‘Stand straight.’ Baldie says as he pulls the monitoring devices off the boy’s chest and head.

The man puts a hand on the child’s head, holding him with firm fingertips that dig into his forehead. He uses his grip to manoeuvre him towards the door and into the bare corridors of flawless white paint and gleaming metal that define the boy’s world.

They take a couple of turns, reach another door. Baldie stops and knocks before pulling it ajar, revealing a gleaming forcefield. Beyond it, the room is dark. Yet, this isn’t a simple absence of light. The darkness is alive, swirling with reddish hues. The boy can feel it staring at him with malevolent intent. He wraps his arms around his body tighter. Baldie pays him no attention.

‘Fucking Starscourge,’ the man mutters, before calling out. ‘Regg, we’re going to send the new intern to get coffee. Just text him what you want.’
‘Will do. Thanks.’

The words are coming from deep within the entrails of the room followed by a series of jangling sounds. The child can hear the voice muttering before Baldie shuts the door again.

‘Stop fidgeting. Metal will make you strong.’

The closed panel does nothing to mute the screams that follow. Long, inhuman, hair-raising screams.

Soon, the child is in front of his cell. Baldie takes his wrist and presses it against the chip reader. The door swings open and the boy is pushed inside. The space never changes. White plaster walls, a full-width glass door at the front, a hole in the floor and a thin plastic-covered mattress. As always when he is led back in, the air smells of antiseptic and the gossamer paper sheets have been changed. The child has never seen who carries out those tasks. Maybe no-one. Maybe a being who’s not quite someone anymore.

The boy sits on the mattress and watches the door close. There’s a low hiss as the electronic lock engages, then the clear surface shimmers for a few seconds. Soon, the glass becomes a screen and the continual broadcast restarts. It’s mostly a mix of propaganda messages about the Empire and technical descriptions of weapons and heavily armed machinery.

‘The MA-X Maniple is a second generation all-terrain magitek tank equipped with shock-based medium-range cannons. As highlighted on the schematics, the articulations of the feet pieces are the most vulnerable points that infantry must be prepared to defend.’

The child sits and listens. He has nothing else to do. From time to time, between clips, the seal of the Empire appears on the screen and the boy scrambles to his feet to shout.

‘Long live the Empire!’

He has to. If he doesn’t, they will come. They always know. They’re always watching. He must be good or he’ll have to be punished.

Several hours later, the screen finally blanks into a dull slate grey and the lights dim. The cell is not dark by any means, but the glare of the white neon bulbs lessens. The child lies down on the paper sheets. It’s his favourite part of the day. He doesn’t want to sleep just yet - when he wakes up it will start all over again - but his eyelids are heavy and they close of their own accord. He would have drifted away if not for the itch on his wrist under the barcode, where the electronic chip is. It has never bothered him before, but now it tingles and is hot to the touch as the child scratches at it.

‘Hello, Little One.’

The boy opens his eyes in panic at the words. He throws himself back, huddling up in the corner, trying to hide beneath paper sheets that tear all too easily. Near the door, a creature is sitting. The child has never seen anything like it before. It’s small and it looks soft to the touch, covered in silver fur. The shade is muted, showing none of the gleaming harshness of metal. It glows softly.

‘Don’t be scared.’

The boy tries to remember all the monsters he’s been shown. They come under two categories. ‘Do not engage without express order’ and ‘kill on sight’. But none of them have ever looked like the small creature. None of them had overgrown ears, a bushy tail or a small crystallised red horn on their forehead.
The child waits for the men to come and take the creature away. They see everything and it’s not supposed to be there. But nobody comes and the boy starts to doubt. Maybe it’s a task. But what does he have to do? He can’t be good if he doesn’t know what they want from him.

‘My name is Carbuncle.’

The words are not spoken out loud, instead they resonate directly in the child’s head. The voice is followed by faint echoes rolling inside his skull. The chip in his wrist vibrates softly every time the creature talks. It stares intently at him as it does, but its mouth doesn’t move.
Carbuncle twirls on itself before laying down, its chin on its paws. It watches the boy but doesn’t try to come closer. They both wait in silence. The child is peering through holes in the paper sheet he still has bunched up over his head. His gaze doesn’t deviate until a trap on the wall opens with a loud clank and startles him.
The usual bag of water and nutrient bars are waiting for him. He must eat. They don’t like it when he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to make the men angry, but going any closer to the creature terrifies him. It shouldn’t be here. He hesitates for a while, but the countdown gets louder in his head. They’re going to come. Carbuncle’s eyes are closed, so the child crawls forward, just far enough to grab his meal before retreating back to his corner. He hides under the sheet again. He eats one of the bars. It crumbles dry and tasteless in his mouth. Water is never enough to remove what feels like sand in his throat. The boy coughs a few times.
There’s another bar. He’s supposed to eat it. Usually, he would. He peeks under the sheet. Carbuncle is still in the same position, but it’s watching him again. The child takes the nutrient bar and offers it to the creature, reaching out as far as his little arm can go while still in the safety of his improvised hideout. He doesn’t fully understand why, only that it is the right thing to do.

‘Thank you. But I don’t need food. You should eat it.’

The boy hesitates. The creature doesn’t understand, he has to explain.

‘You have to eat,’ he says. ‘If you don’t, they come. They know you’ve been bad. And you have to be punished.’
‘It’s okay. They don’t know I’m here.’

The child’s eyes widen at the words. He drops his hand back in his lap. He doesn’t understand. The creature is lying. They know everything. They always know everything. But his mind can’t make sense of the situation. If they know, why haven’t they come to take it away? Why is it not worried about being bad? About deserving to be punished?

'Eat,’ Carbuncle says gently, like a caress over his mind. ‘They’re not coming.’

So the child does. He stays bundled up in the corner, but as the creature doesn’t try to move, he slowly slides down curled up on himself, watching it. When the broadcast resumes in the morning and he opens his eyes, Carbuncle is gone.

*

The next few weeks pass by with the same metronomic schedule the boy has always known. With one exception. When the broadcast finishes and the light dim, Carbuncle comes. He’s never seen it appear. One instant, the child is alone, the next he closes his eyes and when he opens them, the creature is there looking at him. They never come for it. After a while, the boy believes it was telling the truth. They don’t know it’s here.

It takes a long time for the child to relax, to accept that Carbuncle is not a threat. He has never had another being staying in his space in this way, or even someone to talk to. He doesn’t know what to make of it. Still, little by little, and despite his fear, he becomes more comfortable. He doesn’t jump anymore every time the creature moves. He lets it come closer until finally it sits on the mattress with him, each one keeping to their own end.

One night, Carbuncle looks asleep, its eyes are closed and its breathing slow. The boy has to stare to see its fur move every so often. It trembles imperceptibly in a muted silver glow. It looks so soft. He would only have to lean a little to touch it.
The child holds his breath. He’s terrified but he can’t help himself. His fingertips reach - oh so lightly - for the very end of the fuzzy hairs, as far as possible from Carbuncle’s body. The creature doesn’t stir. Slowly, encouraged by the lack of reaction, the boy gets bolder. His hand brushes over the fur, letting him discover a new sensation, a small pleasure he could never have imagined. It’s soft. So soft. And addictive. Soon his fingers are in the fur, holding it, patting it, fluffing it up. Still Carbuncle slumbers.
The next few nights proceed in the same fashion. But the child’s hesitation lessens with each stroke of the fur. Even when finally, one evening, he sees the creature looking at him, his hand slows down but doesn’t stop. Carbuncle closes its eyes again.

A few more days, and finally, the child’s barriers are gone. He cuddles up with Carbuncle to go to sleep, hands and face in its fur. Even when the creature lets out a low rumble of contentment at the scratch of small fingers behind its ears, the boy is not scared. His mouth opens, pulled from side to side in an involuntary stretch that makes his cheeks hurt. He rubs them with a scowl. He doesn’t understand what’s happening. His face has never done that before and he’s not sure if he likes it or not.

After that, Carbuncle starts saying strange things. Each night, it talks about a vast world in some other place, about not having to serve the Empire, about not having to be hurt, about meeting people who would want to talk to and be with the child without asking for anything in exchange. They are wild tales the boy struggles to follow. Within the confines of his reality, they make little sense. Every time, the conversation ends the same way.

‘If you wanted, we could go somewhere better. I’d help you.’
‘I have to stay here,’ the child answers. ‘I have to be good or they’ll know. And I’ll have to be punished.’

*

Another day, another session. Baldie attaches the instruments to the child as usual and moves to the computer to start the calibrations. He’s only been at it for a few seconds when Bushy marches into the laboratory slamming the door behind him. He looks furious.

The child stands very still.

‘What’s going on?’ Baldie asks.
‘“Project Deathless”, my ass. Regg’s gone, man.’
‘What? What do you mean “gone”?’
‘I mean dead. Fucking killed. One of his experiments finished its transition before it was fully encased in armour. Bloody daemon tore him to pieces.’
‘Fuck. How is that even possible? We know everything about that process. Unless Regg messed up, there’s no way that should have happened.’
‘He didn’t mess up. Verstael just called me to his office. He was livid. He thinks the Starscouge is accelerating and we haven’t noticed.’
‘Accelerating? Shit, that’s a stretch. But I suppose if it happened slowly enough…’
‘Exactly. Verstael says this is top priority. He’s suspending all magitek creation until we know for sure and he put me in charge.’
‘So what do we do?’
‘Back to square one. Infect some subjects and monitor what happens to them and how fast. Then we see if it correlates with the data we’ve already got.’
‘We’re going to have to use this lot,’ Baldie says, nodding towards the child. ‘The others are either too far along or too immature.’
‘Yeah. They were never going to make good soldiers anyway. Too headstrong, especially this one. At least this way we’re getting some use out of them.’
‘You want me to start the inoculations today?’

Bushy hesitates for a moment before shaking his head.

‘No, we’ll start tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ll write the protocols, and I need you to go supervise the clean-up in Regg’s lab. Make sure it’s safe again. And take that one back on your way.’

Once in his cell, the child sits on the mattress, confused. He doesn’t pay much attention to the broadcast. He hasn’t been hurt even though the men were angry. It doesn’t make sense. He’s only been sitting there for a few minutes when Carbuncle pushes its soft head under his arm. This is odd too. The light hasn’t dimmed yet. It’s not supposed to be here.

‘Little One, you need to get out of here, you can’t hesitate anymore. You heard them.’
‘I’m not allowed,’ the boy says, shaking his head. ‘I must be good.’
‘They will put bad darkness inside you. You won’t be able to be good ever again.’

The child shivers. Carbuncle is right. He heard them. The Starscourge. The Darkness. He’s always known it was waiting for him. He’s only seen it a few times, but he remembers every one of them. The swirling shadows always looked at him hungrily, as if they wanted nothing more than to drag him in the abyss full of metallic sounds and agonising screams.

‘I’ll be punished,’ he says softly.
‘If we get you out, they’ll never be able to punish you again.’
‘Never?’
‘Never. But you’ll have to do exactly as I say.’

The child looks at Carbuncle for a long time. He doesn’t understand how the creature could possibly make that promise. If he’s bad, he’ll have to be punished. It’s the rule.
Going anywhere without having been ordered to definitely counts as being bad. But he also thinks about the engulfing darkness. The darkness is not good. He knows that. He can’t explain how but he does, he knows it with every spark of his mind, with every fibre of his being. So finally, scared that whoever is watching might see and understand - after all, he used to believe they knew everything - he gives Carbuncle a small curt nod.

*

When the child wakes up, the creature is gone as per usual. But he remembers its instructions well enough. A couple of hours pass, the broadcast is playing but he can’t concentrate. He keeps his hands closed around his knees to stop them from shaking. He’s so scared. But he promised Carbuncle he’d be brave. He won’t let them put the bad darkness inside of him.
When the screen finally fades away to reveal the silently opening glass door, the boy gets to his feet and walks out as he is supposed to. Baldie is in a bad mood. He painfully grips the back of the child’s neck with a strong hand and shoves him forward.

‘Come on, brat. Let’s go. It’s a great day for you. Finally going to be of some use.’

They walk down a corridor, take a turn. Baldie keeps talking to himself, using the child’s company as an excuse.

‘Such a fucking mess. Like it’s our fault their little pet project turned unpredictable. We told them it’d end up going wrong from the start, but would they listen… Of course not. Always thinking they know better when they’re never on the ground doing the work. And now, hammering on and on about results and deadlines. Fucking assholes.’

Another turn. The laboratory’s door is open at the end of the passage, mere meters away. The boy can see Bushy, sitting on the edge of a surgical table, examining some dark vials. A step. Another. Another one yet. They walk past a corridor on their left. The child doesn’t hesitate. He twists and wrenches himself free, starts running. Baldie - still pursuing his acidic monologue - is taken by surprise and fails to grab him.

‘You little fucker! Come back here!’

The child runs. He knows where he’s going. The washroom. They bring him there every other day to hose him down before taking him back to his cell. Carbuncle said he had to get there. He runs, grabs the edge of the wall to pull himself around a corner without slowing down. He hears a body slamming into the wall behind him with a curse. There’s another pair of running steps behind them as well.

‘Get him! What the hell got into that little bastard?’ Bushy shouts.

Finally, the washroom double doors are there. The boy runs through, slamming them shut behind him.

‘Quick. Put the mop through the handles.’

He doesn’t pause, grabs the mop laying against the wall and feeds it through the door handles. Just in time. The metal rod complains but holds as Baldie pushes on the door.

‘Open it! You hear me, brat! Open it!’
‘You have nowhere to go! Let us in!’ Bushy hollers.

The child is shaking. He wants to hide. He’s never heard them so angry. He’s been so bad. He’s going to have to be punished. Why did he do this… Why…
Carbuncle climbs onto his shoulder, knocks its face against his to pull him out of his trance.

‘Quick, the showers. Remember the plan.’

The order spurs the boy on. After coming this far, he has nothing left to lose. He runs to every shower head on the wall and turns it on.

‘Your tunic now. Quickly, Little One, quickly.’

The child takes the grille off the evacuation hole in the middle of the slanted floor and shoves his rough linen tunic inside it. He doesn’t know why they’re doing this, but Carbuncle said it would help.
The men are still bearing against the door and shouting. Water starts to slowly rise over the tile floor.

‘Just a little bit longer.’

The boy stops dead where he stands. His heart beats painfully against his ribcage and he feels he’s going to be sick. There’s a new sound in the corridor. The clear, loud and metallic step of a magitek soldier. Of course, the scientists called for help.

‘Open it,’ Bushy orders.

The doors make an ugly noise as they strain on their hinges. The mop handle screeches and bends slowly inwards. It doesn’t break. Not yet. But there’s now an opening the width of a hand between the door panels. The child sees the red inhuman eyes of the magitek armour staring through. Bushy is behind it, apoplectic with rage.

The boy cries out, stumbles towards the back wall through rising water. There’s nowhere to run. His hands push against the tiles in unadulterated terror. His fingers pry fragments of cement away. He tears his nails but he doesn’t stop.

The mop snaps. The doors fly open, hitting the wall with a sinister, booming clang.

‘Bring him to me,’ Bushy snarls.

The magitek soldier steps into the room.

The child tries to scramble back, but his feet slip on the tiles and he falls into the water. It sloshes around him, around the legs of the magitek soldier. An armoured arm reaches out.

A powerful voice erases all thoughts in the child’s mind.

‘Jump!’

A passage has opened inside the improvised pool. It look like a mirror made from water and yet filled with it too. The boy throws himself towards it, crawling across the floor. The water is slowing him down. Metal fingers close around his ankle. He turns and screams. He kicks against the grip, over and over again, but the soldier holds fast. The boy flails as he is dragged through water towards the door. Baldie and Bushy are waiting, wearing matching ominous smiles. The child twists around, trying to grab onto the tiles with his fingertips. He’s yanked off. Red blooms in the water. He thrashes about harder against all odds. Despair tells him to give up, but he won’t. Not yet. His fingers close on something hard and cylindrical. Half the mop handle.

’The weakest points of individual magitek units are the limbs’ articulations. Great care must be taken to counter attacks aimed at damaging them. This is particularly true of infantry units which carry little reinforcement in order to stay light and mobile,’ the broadcast says in his head. He heard it so many times he knows it by heart.

The child grabs the metal rod, lifts his torso off the floor and shoves the broken, serrated tip, into the armour’s elbow as hard as he can. The grip around his ankle weakens. He kicks again and his foot slips through. He’s free.
He twists around and makes a run for the portal. The magitek armour pulls the improvised lance out of its arm. Liquid tendrils of darkness seep out from the joint. They drop into the water and spread like wildfire. Already, the boy is at the passage. He doesn’t pause, jumps in head first.

He thinks he can hear Bushy and Baldie scream before the world around him is swallowed in a maelstrom of lights and colours.

*

When he comes back to himself, the child is still in water. Everything else, however, has changed.

The water is a muddy brown and comes up to his waist. The soil at the bottom is smooth and velvety. He’s sitting cross-legged inside a circular wall of stones raising high above his head. The ceiling is blue overhead, bluer than the eyes of the Emperor. The light is wrong. It’s hard to explain why. It’s almost too transparent.
There’s a muted whistling noise overhead and large swatches of green come across the ceiling, rustling, towering. The boy scrambles backwards, pushing against the stones, but he can find no cover.

‘Do not fear. You’re safe.’

Carbuncle is at the top of the stonewall and jumps down into the water.

‘You’ve been very brave, Little One. So very brave. You’re safe now.’
‘Where are we?’
‘We’re in a part of the world called Cleigne. We have travelled very far, further than those men can reach.’
‘The Empire is all powerful,’ the child says automatically.
‘That’s what they wanted you to believe. But it’s a lie. Come on, let’s get you dry.’

Carbuncle climbs back up effortlessly, and encourages the boy to follow suit. It lets him grab onto its tail and pulls him up with a strength its small body should not be able to muster.
The child clambers over the wall and sits out of breath, overwhelmed. It’s even brighter now and he has to squint to try to get used to the light falling from the highest ceiling. He can’t find where it’s coming from.
The ground is yielding, covering his fingertips in a brown substance that smells odd, moist. There’s green prickly things coming out of it as well. But before he can take in his surroundings further, Carbuncle shakes itself sending fine droplets of water everywhere.
The boy’s mouth does the new stretchy thing, but it also lets out an odd noise that startles him. Laughter, he remembers. Bushy didn’t like Baldie to do it when they were working, always told him to stop. But it feels good, so he lets it out. Too absorbed by the new experience, he misses the step coming up behind him.

‘Ah, you got out of the well.’

The child turns around. The newcomer is like no-one he’s ever seen. They’re not wearing metal or a white coat, instead their frail body is lost in black and brown folds of flowing fabric, one of them wrapped over their head. The face is wrinkly but the eyes are severe and piercing.
Carbuncle is gone. The boy scrambles to his feet and tries to run, but the grounds is uneven and betrays his stride. A hand closes on his shoulder and he freezes. He’s been caught. He doesn’t know what the punishment will be but he knows he deserves it. He shouldn’t have tried to run.

‘Come now. The spirits and I didn’t work so hard to bring you here so you could disappear in the woods and get eaten.’

The boy stares at the ground.

‘I won’t hurt you. Give me your hand.’

He obeys, offering it palm up. He’s trembling. But nothing bad happens. The stranger takes his hand and put it in theirs, closing their fingers around his palm in a firm, yet gentle hold. The child stares. It feels safe. Natural. Nobody has ever held his hand like this before.
They start walking. He follows obediently. His mind is full of tumbling questions. Nothing makes sense and he’s exhausted. He’s still scared, but it’s a dull simmering feeling he has no energy left to worry about.

They don’t go far but the world they traverse is at a scale the boy could never have imagined. It is so vast and there is so much. Of everything. So much he doesn’t comprehend. Browns, greens, blues, still and suddenly moving, startling him. The stranger keeps walking, unconcerned until they arrive at a small wooden house. The child is ushered in.

The light inside is warm, soft, much easier on his eyes and mostly coming from an open fireplace. The boy watches the flames, fascinated. He’s seen sparks flying when the lab technicians worked on magitek armours, but never anything like this. It looks alive.

‘Have a seat.’

The child drops to the floor where he stands, eager to please. He doesn’t know the rules and it is making him anxious. The chuckle he gets in answer makes him tense but no anger follows. Instead, the stranger takes the fabric off their head and goes to hang a kettle over the dancing fire.
The boy is calmer now and he can see better. The stranger is a woman. Much older than any he’s ever seen. She mutters to herself as she pours water in a basin.

‘Come here.’

He obeys and finds himself standing in a tub as dried muddy water stains are washed off his skin. The water is lukewarm, the cloth gentle. The woman holds his hands and studies his torn fingernails.

‘We’re going to have to clean this up,’ she says, adding some herbs to a bowl and pouring water over it. ‘Put your hands in there. It’s going to sting a bit, but it’ll help.’

The boy does as he’s told. It does sting, but that kind of pain is easy enough to bear. After everything he’s done that day, he probably deserves much worse. Bushy liked him to say ‘thank you’ on his merciful days when he chose not to hurt him as much as he could have. The child wonders if he should show gratitude now as well. Better safe than sorry.

‘Thank you,’ he says.

The old woman sends him an odd look, as if something in his tone doesn’t sit right with her.

‘I’m sorry if it hurts.’ she says before he can panic. Her tone is gruff but her eyes have softened. ‘Just bear with it for another minute.’

She dries him and dresses him in a long shirt. It’s soft, but bigger than his tunic used to be, covering the floor around his feet.

‘I wasn’t expecting you to arrive naked,’ the old woman mutters.

She finds a leather link and uses it as an improvised belt to shorten the shirt. Then she seats the boy in an armchair and drapes a blanket over his shoulders.

‘There. That’s better. Now, let’s get to the introductions. My name is Kimya. Have you got a name?’

The child thinks about this. Baldie and Bushy never called him the same thing twice and he didn’t like any of the names they used. There’s only one - relatively new - that has been both consistent and pleasant to hear.

‘Little One,’ he says.

Kimya nods.

‘That will do for now. We’ll think of something else later. Are you hungry?’

The boy blinks at her.

‘Do you want some food?'
‘I eat when instructed.’

The old woman sighs and shakes her head but doesn’t say anything. She goes to the kitchen. The child can’t see what she’s doing from the armchair. The blanket is warm and his eyelids are heavy.

*

When he opens his eyes again, the cabin is much darker. He’s slipped sideways on the armchair, but he’s small enough that he has enough room to sleep comfortably. Carbuncle is curled up against him under the blanket, watching over him.

‘Where did you go?’ the child asks.
‘I was busy. There’s someone else I must look after too.’
’Someone else?’
‘Indeed. One day, it’ll all become clear.’

The boy’s stomach interrupts them with a strong gurgle.

‘Kimya left food for you on the table. You should eat.’
‘Is she gone?’
‘She’ll be back soon.’

The child gets up, dragging the blanket with him. On the table are a glass of milk, a plate of biscuits and a bowl filled with pieces of peach.

‘It looks weird.’
‘It’s food. Give it a try.’

He takes a piece of fruit and puts it in his mouth. Juice runs along his finger. He doesn’t chew, just lets it sit on his tongue as he grows very still. His mouth is full of melting delight. The flavours are overpowering, saliva fills his throat and he has to press a hand over his mouth and swallow to keep it from spilling out.

‘I have to go now, but I’ll wait for you in Insomnia.’

The boy doesn’t pay much attention to what the creature is saying. His mouth is now empty and it’s unacceptable. He climbs on the table, grabs food in two hands and eats as much as he can in one go. He coughs but still tries to swallow more. Nothing can compare to the sweet, mushy paste that sticks to his teeth and that the milk can’t fully rinse off. He had no idea food could be so delicious.
The door opens and the child looks up in alarm, but recognition settles his fear. Kimya takes off her shawl and comes to sit on the bench.

‘Slow down. You’re going to give yourself a belly ache.’

The boy obeys but there’s not much left already. He feels full. He’s never eaten so much at once before. Remembering Carbuncle’s latest words, he looks around. But the creature is gone.

‘Something you need?’
‘Where’s Car… Carbn…’ he tries, but the creature’s name is hard to pronounce.
‘The fur ball? It can’t be with you if someone else is.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it inhabits your head.’

The boy presses his palms against his skull. It’s too small for Carbuncle to be in there. And how would he get in?

‘It’s a spirit. It can navigate your dreams easily enough, sometimes even drift into your mind when you’re awake, but it can’t really be here.’
‘But it is. I can touch it.’
‘Of course, you can,’ Kimya says with a shrug. ’It’s in your head.’

The child blinks at her. She sighs.

‘Spirits and gods are different from us. Carbuncle can create passages into dreams, but it can’t do the same in our world. That’s why the spirits asked me to help bring you here. They needed someone who could use old magic. And the Lucians would not understand why you’re important. They would only remember where you’re from.’
‘I’m important?’
‘Very. You will be needed in the future. You have a destiny, Little One.’

This, the boy knows. He’s had to learn it a long time ago.

‘My destiny is to serve,’ he recites.

Kimya laughs.

‘You’re not exactly wrong. But you won’t be serving the Empire. And your service will be nothing like what they intended.’

The child looks at her with wide eyes. The idea that he won’t have to serve the Empire is bewildering.

‘But you must remember to not talk about Niflheim from now on. Lots of people around these parts don’t like the Empire and they won’t take kindly to it being mentioned.’

The boy frowns.

‘Is that a rule?’
‘Yes. Yes, it is. Remember it.’
‘I always follow the rules.’

The child nods seriously. He likes rules. If he knows what he’s not supposed to do, then he can avoid having to be punished. He points at the brick covered in buttons she’s put on the table. He doesn’t like things with buttons he doesn’t understand. In his experience, they tend to be made to hurt him in new ways.

‘What’s this?’
‘It’s a phone. An old one,’ Kimya answers with a dismissive shrug. ‘I had to walk four miles to find some signal. Be grateful, I’m not as young as I used to be to go on that kind of trip.’
‘Thank you,’ the boy replies automatically. He doesn’t know what she’s talking about but he’s learnt the hard way the right answer to ‘be grateful’.
‘Someone will come and get you in four days. So make yourself at home but leave my herbs alone.’

*

The next few days mostly revolve around discovering new food and sleeping. The child can’t get his head around the different tastes and flavours that exist in this one little cabin in the woods. He only learns that his stomach has indeed a finite capacity and that overloading it is not especially pleasant. The lesson is a harsh one when each meal brings him more deliciousness to discover.
The rest of the time he sits in the armchair under the blanket. Carbuncle doesn’t come back. The old woman makes up soups that smell funny. They don’t eat those. Instead, they get bottled up and put on high shelves around the cabin.

Sometimes, she tends to her herb garden outside, or beats laundry in the creek. She always leaves the door open and after a while, the child’s curiosity gets the better of him. He sits on the step, ready to rush back in, but able to take in the world. His mind is more settled and he is able to make leaps from his theoretical knowledge of battlefield conditions to the universe displayed around him.
The gentle movement of the air must be what they called ‘wind’. The hard pieces he finds in the soft ground are ‘rocks’. Some are much bigger than others, too big for him to move. The giant trunks and green foliage surrounding them are ‘trees’. They’re supposed to be useful to build fires and bridges. But nobody seems interested in felling them. The boy is glad. He thinks the trees are pretty.
The sound of the wind rustling leaves far above has a long, soothing rhythm. The broadcast never mentioned that.

The morning of the second day, Kimya makes the child take a bath again. Afterwards, she brushes the mats out of his hair and cuts off the recalcitrant ones. The scissors make a lot of noise and the boy is scared, but he does his best to stay still. He doesn’t get hurt. Afterwards, his hair feels uneven and choppy but it’s also a lot lighter. It feels odd but he likes it.

The third afternoon, the child is sitting on the step again, drawing random lines in the dirt with a stick. He’s never been able to alter his environment before. It feels like magic. The lines stay where he traced them. He doesn’t have the words to explain why, but he knows the importance of this imprint his existence has made. It’s a puny accomplishment, and yet it carries such vast possibilities in its core.

It’s the middle of the afternoon when water falls on his forehead and arms. Kimya is pulling weeds from the herb garden only a few meters away and she mutters something too low for the child to understand. He’s not paying much attention, mesmerised by the drops falling from the sky. He thinks hard for a minute.

‘Rain. It’s rain!,’ he shouts, proud to have remembered. His throat lets out the new laughing sound and he gets to his feet, running to Kimya, for once not thinking about the danger. ‘Rain!’

Her only answer is an affirmative groan but she smiles, seduced by his atypical enthusiasm.

‘Rain! Rain! Rain!’
‘So it is. At least, one of us is pleased.’
‘Like a shower,’ the boy says, face to the clouds, arms raised up to welcome the drizzle.
‘It’s a pain, that’s what it is. Come on, help me bring the laundry inside.’

Kimya unhooks a sheet from the cloth line and puts it in the child’s arm.

‘Go inside. Promptly.’

He blinks at her as he always does when he doesn’t fully understand.

‘Quick. Fast. Go.’

The boy’s eyes brighten.

‘Presto,’ he says.
‘Yes, that’s it. Go.’

Baldie use to drag him through the corridors when he was in a hurry, yelling at him to walk faster with a series of ‘presto, presto, presto’. The man was a music lover. He liked to play opera during his experiments.
They only have to go back and forth a few times before the laundry is safe inside the cabin. It’s the first time the child has run in days and he is too excited to stop. Kimya hasn’t punished him so far and he’s getting bolder. Still excited by the rain, he runs in circles around the small room, letting out his newly found laughter, sing-songing.

‘Prompto! Presto! Prompto! Presto!’

Kimya watches him go, shaking her head in disbelief. But she lets him run until he’s out of breath and drops down on the carpet by the fire. He’s not so scared of it anymore.
The old woman pulls her armchair closer to the fire. She unravels some wool and keeps knitting the tea cosy she started the previous day. The boy is on his stomach, chin on his hands, looking at the flames.

‘I suppose you’re a swift one,’ Kimya mutters. ‘What do you think? You want to be called that?’
’Swift one?’
‘No. Prompto.’
‘Prompto,’ the boy repeats as if tasting the word. ‘I like it. It’s funny.’
‘It’s settled then. You’ll be Prompto.’
‘Prompto.’

The child says his new name a few times until he falls asleep where he lies. He smiles in his sleep.

*

The next morning, Kimya fashions makeshift shoes for Prompto out of shreds of leather and cloth. Then she takes him by the hand and they walk down the cabin path to a large forest trail. They keep going downhill for what seems like a very long time. The air is cool and the woods alive around them. Around midday, the track widens and they walk out of the trees. The sun is much warmer now.

Prompto takes in the sight and rushes to hide behind Kimya’s skirts.

A man is sitting on the grassy embankment. He has a heavy hunting knife in his hands that he’s twirling with an obliviousness that speaks of finely honed skills. He’s young, younger than the scientists were, but the dark drawings on his arms and chest, the glint of the knife and the metal tags around his neck are intimidating. Prompto knows. Metal makes you strong. But it also makes you hollow and violent.

‘Dave. I should have known the old crow would send you,’ Kimya says, sneering at the stranger.
‘Trust me, it wasn’t my choice, Witch. This better be worth it. I wasted two full days of tracking a man-killing behemoth to answer your summon.’

Kimya makes Prompto stand in front of her but she keeps her hands on his shoulders.

‘You need to take this child to Insomnia.’
‘A child?’

Dave’s tone softens, clearly surprised. He puts the knife back in his belt and stands up, scowling when he sees Prompto flinch as he comes closer. He stops a couple of meters away and squats down.

‘What’s your name, kid?’
‘Prompto Presto.’

Dave tries hard not to smile at the seriousness of the answer.

’Just Prompto,’ Kimya intervenes. ‘You remember?’
‘Oh. Yes. Prompto.’

The boy likes it better anyway. Baldie never said ‘prompto’.

‘I thought he was a girl. What with the dress and the blond curls.’
‘I didn’t have much to dress him with. You’ll need to get him some clothes.’
‘Where did you even find a kid in those woods? Did he fall from the sky?
’No,’ Kimya says, her tone enigmatic and stern. ‘He came from the water.’

She has a thin knowing smile. The smile of one who understands more about the world than they should. Dave stands up and takes a step back.

‘Keep your tales, Witch. I should not have asked. Don’t pull me into your affairs.’
‘His origins matter not. Will you take the child with you?’
‘I was told to do your bidding as long as it was reasonable. And I can’t rightly leave a kid in the woods, so yes, sure. I can take him to Lestallum. I know folks there who’ll help.’
’That won’t do. He needs to go to Insomnia.’
‘Why? Lestallum is plenty safe.’
‘For now. But it might not stay that way. The war is going to spread soon. He must go to Insomnia. The spirits demand it.’
‘Damn you, Witch. Pulling that spirit crap.’
‘Your call, Dave. You’re a courageous strong hunter. If you think you can brave the spirits’ anger…’
‘Enough already. I’ll take the kid to Insomnia. I’m not letting you curse me.’
‘I know you don’t believe as much as you should, but this is important. Swear on the Six.’
‘Fine. I swear by the Power of the Six. I’ll take him to Insomnia.’
‘Good.’

Kimya uses her grip on Prompto’s shoulders to turn him around and keep him at arm’s length. She doesn’t kneel and her voice is severe.

‘Go with Dave. He will take you where you must go. Listen to him.’
‘He’s scary,’ Prompto says softly, but loud enough to elicit a laugh from the hunter.
‘Good eye. He’s a ruffian. But he’s on your side and he’ll protect you. Go now.’

Prompto takes a couple of hesitant steps forward. Dave lowers himself to his level again.

‘Hey kid. I’m not nearly as bad as what she says. Here.’

The hunter offers his hand, but the boy is not sure what he wants. He guesses and gives his hand too. It gets shaken weirdly.

‘Nice to meet you, Prompto was it?’

Prompto turns around to confirm with Kimya. She’s not there anymore. The path leading into the heart of the forest is straight for at least half a mile, but the old frail woman is nowhere to be seen.

‘Don’t worry about the Witch. She’s got her tricks. Speaking of, you wouldn’t have seen any wild beasts wandering the forest with her. They’re smart and they leave her alone, but we might not get so lucky. So I need you to listen to me. I’m going to protect you, but we’ll need some rules. If I tell you to hide, you find some long grass or a bush, you get in there and you stay very still until I call for you. If I tell you to freeze, you don’t move a muscle until I say it’s okay. It’s very important. Do you understand?’
‘I’ll be good,’ Prompto says. He doesn’t want to get in trouble with the scary metal-wearing man.
‘Cool. We’re going to get along just fine, you’ll see.’

They walk down the hill for another hour, undisturbed, until they reach a wide, rapidly flowing river. Prompto’s eyes are wide. He has never seen that much water. There, they meet the first hitch in their journey. Before the boy can realise what’s happening, Dave picks him up off the ground and sits him on a high rock.

‘Don’t move.’

Prompto is stiller than the rock he’s sitting on. He sees the large, powerful monster making its way towards them at a sedate pace that exudes menace and confidence. A sahagin. ‘Kill on sight,’ the broadcast used to say. But Dave breaks the rule. He has his knife in his hand but he doesn’t try to use it. Instead he hurls a couple of rocks and a burning red flare at the beast while shouting.

‘Go back where your scaly whore of a mother fucked the… Shit, the kid. Language, Dave, language. Well, erh… go back where you came from! That’s it. You goddamn bas… erhm… basket.’

The monster hesitates but the flare spooks it. It turns tail and disappears under whirling waters.

‘Come on, kid. We need to go before it brings back company.’
‘You didn’t kill it.’
‘I didn’t have to. It’s not hurting anyone. People around here know enough not to come and bother them this deep in the riverbed. The beasts tend to keep to themselves. Plenty of fish to hunt around those parts.’

Prompto nods but his mind is a mix of confusion and awe. He always thought the Empire’s orders were absolute and that everyone had to follow them. But Dave didn’t and he’s not even scared.
They cross a bridge and keep walking for another half hour until they reach an already set-up camp. A tent, a couple of packs, an extinguished fire. But Prompto sees none of it. His interest is fully grasped by the creature that’s scratching at the dirt near-by. It’s tall - taller than he is - and the brightest reddish orange the boy has ever seen. For the first time in his life, the sight of the unknown stirs up no fear in him, only yearning. He pulls his hand out of Dave’s and runs to the beast, until he’s pressed against it and hugging it as far as his small arms will reach. It is very soft, covered in feathers. It turns to look at him, coos and delicately picks fragments of twig out of Prompto’s hair.

‘So you like chocobos. That’ll make things easier.’
‘Chocobos?’
‘Yes,’ Dave says, waving at the bird, ‘she’s a chocobo. Her name’s Daisy.’
‘Daisy,’ Prompto repeats, before hugging her again.

Dave takes a few minutes to put away the supplies into the pack and saddlebags.

‘Prompto, you’ve ever ridden before?’

The boy shakes his head. Infantry units are not supposed to ride.

‘Right. Well, you just have to trust Daisy. She’ll take care of you.’

Dave picks him up, sits him in the saddle and climbs up behind him with ease.

‘There we go. Slow now, Daisy, we don’t want to spook our guest.’

But Prompto is all but spooked. He’s so high and he can see so far. He can close his hands in Daisy’s feathers and hold on. She moves in an easy and rhythmic fashion that makes him laugh for too long. His cheeks hurt again. He rubs them, but he doesn’t stop.

‘It’s going to be a couple of hours before we reach Old Lestallum,’ Dave says. ‘ You have to be patient.’
‘I’ll be good,’ Prompto answers automatically.

In truth, he never wants the ride to stop. When Daisy speeds up to a trot he claps his hands with delight and would have ended up on the ground if not for Dave’s steadying grip on his arm.
After a while, Prompto starts pointing at the landscape, getting the hunter to tell him what everything is called. Clouds. Road. Pylon. Bird. Dave sounds perplexed by the questions, but he answers anyway.

Old Lestallum is impressive and frightening. There are so many people. Too many. Prompto can’t keep track of all of them. Not knowing where the next threat might come from is nerve-wracking. Dave and Daisy don’t seem bothered. The hunter puts the child back on the ground and loosens the girth of the saddle to give the chocobo some comfort room.
A roaring hunk of metal passes on the road right behind them. Prompto has nowhere to hide so he squats where he stands and hides his face in his hands, keeping himself as small and silent as he can. He’s trembling, waiting for the danger to pass.

‘Whaccha doing, kid?’ Dave taps his shoulder. ‘Come now. We need to get you some clothes.’

They find a pair of trousers and a teeshirt in the shop. The shoes are a bit too big but it’s just as well because Prompto hates the feeling of his feet being enclosed so tightly. But his attention is easily diverted. He tries to spy on all that the store holds - so many unknown and weird-looking items, he can’t catalogue them all - while staying out of the way of the customers. Dave spends a long time talking to the shopkeeper, but finally waves at the boy to follow him outside.
Prompto is glad. The shop was astonishing of novelty but unsettling. He doesn’t know any of the rules that apply in this new world, and the risk of doing something wrong without realising is harrowing.

‘We’re in luck, kid. They have a van to rent us. We’ll be in Insomnia before you know it. I’ll get the gear loaded up and then we’re good to go. We won’t go far tonight. We can sleep in Taelpar.’

Prompto watches as Dave goes inside a metal box - similar to the one that scared him earlier. Soon it starts vibrating with a low rumbling noise. Dave goes back and forth, putting his pack and the saddle bags inside the metal cubicle. Prompto runs back to Daisy and hugs her leg. The ever patient bird doesn’t seem to mind. She’s picking up bits of greens from the ground, carrying him along every time she takes a step. Finally, Dave comes to squat in front of them. He offers his hand.

‘Come on, kid. Time to go.’

Prompto clings harder and hides his face in feathers.

‘Daisy will be okay. My friends there,’ Dave says pointing at the Crow’s Nest, ‘are going to take good care of her. I’ll make sure you’re safe and then I’ll come back to get her. Come on.’

He’s gentle but firm when he detaches Prompto’s limbs from Daisy’s fluffy body. The child doesn’t struggle. He remembers. He needs to do as he’s told. He’s no good if he’s not obedient. He wants to be good, no matter how scared he is.
Dave picks him up and they get closer to the metal monster. It has flaps that open from its sides like mouths begging to be fed. The rumbling noise is getting louder, like a growl. Dave leans in to put the Prompto inside one of the mouths. Metal will make you strong, the voice says in the child’s head followed by screams. Endless blood-curdling screams.

Prompto doesn’t think. He screams too. He writhes. He scratches. He bites. Dave drops him to the ground with a swear. The metal is only a couple of inches in front of Prompto’s face, vibrating, still growling. He scrambles to his feet, turns around and runs. He darts across asphalt and hears the screech of tires and scary shouting voices behind him. He doesn’t pause. Branches scratch his face, grab at his clothes, and still he runs as fast as he can. His legs burn, his lungs are empty, but he doesn’t stop. He runs until traitorous stones roll under his feet and he falls. His small body tumbles down the hill, gathering speed despite his best efforts. He comes to a halt a couple of feet deep in the river that runs below. Water washes over Prompto’s head. It’s freezing and it hurts. It gets into his mouth, into his nose. He splutters and swallows more. He can’t breathe. Dark spots dance in front of his eyes. His legs kick again and again looking for purchase. His toes meet pebbles and he pushes up as hard as he can. Finally, he manages to drag himself back onto the bank. Coughing and crying, he crawls under a low over-hanging rock.

He stays there a long time. The sky is getting darker and darker. The noises around him change, turn otherworldly and dangerous. Prompto’s scared and he’s cold. He’s always scared. The cold is new. He can only see the glint of the water in the darkness when he hears Dave’s voice.

‘Come on, girl. We have to find him soon or we’ll all be in trouble. It’s getting late. Still, he’s a scrawny little thing, he can’t have gone far.’

Dave walks alongside the riverbank and passes right in front of the child, unable to see him hiding in the shadows. Prompto is not crying anymore, just silently hugging his knees and rocking back and forth. He doesn’t want the metal to make him strong. But he’s been bad. He deserves to be punished. He rocks some more. He doesn’t want to be punished.
Daisy is following Dave, but she stops in front of the boy’s hiding place and lowers her head to look at him. She blinks slowly. Prompto wants to go to her, but Dave is still out there. And already the man’s noticed the chocobo’s behaviour. Steady steps turn around, coming close again. Dave kneels, bending down to look at the hidden boy.

‘There you are,’ he says.

The child flinches. Dave sighs, but he doesn’t sound angry.

‘Let’s just camp here. We can decide what to do in the morning. Stay with him, girl.’

Dave gets back to his feet. He hasn’t tried to hurt Prompto yet. The boy can hear him moving around, securing the area and lighting up a fire. Daisy is too big to come under the rock, but she lies down near it, relaxes and fluffs herself up. Prompto hesitates. He waits until Dave is sitting by the campfire to crawl out, just far enough to curl up against the chocobo. He’s shivering and she’s wonderfully warm. He buries in her feathers as deep as he can. Daisy coos softly and preens his hair.

*

When Prompto wakes up the next morning, he’s still laying against Daisy but a blanket has been thrown over him. He can hear Dave talking nearby. He doesn’t move, unsure of how much trouble he’s in for his stunt of the previous day.

‘What we gonna do, girl? I mean we could take him to Lestallum, it’s a bit of a trip but it’s not that far. But you know the Witch will make us pay for it. And as much as I don’t believe all her crap about the spirits, if there’s even a sliver of truth in it, it’s not worth the risk… But Insomnia, that’s a way away if we can’t go by car. And there’s no way we can. I don’t know what got into him, but that wasn’t a temper tantrum. The kid was terrified. Something’s not right with him. Trust the old hag to give us a damaged kid to look after.’

Daisy lets out a protesting cry and shakes herself. Prompto feels feathers caressing his face.

‘Stop fidgeting. I know pin feathers are tender, but you can’t get to the ones on your head and if I don’t help you break them out, you’re going to end up looking like a porcupine. Trust me, it’s not a good look for a distinguished chocobo lady such as yourself,’ Dave continues. ‘Anyway, call me crazy, but I think the Witch might have a point. I don’t know why, but I get the feeling that kid needs to be as far away from the Empire as possible. I don’t think we have much choice, girl. I hope you fancy a long trek with an extra half-rider because that’s the only option we’ve got.’

Dave walks back to the fire. Soon a mouth-watering smell of toast and grilled fish fills the air. Prompto doesn’t know what to do. He can’t keep hiding forever, but he’s still too scared to move. Thankfully, his musings are cut short.

‘Kid. I know you’re awake. You’re not sneaky enough to fool a hunter. I’m not mad about yesterday. So come here and eat.’

Prompto obeys, moving slowly in case it’s a trap. It’s happened before. But Dave hands him some fish on toast and a mug of water. The boy takes them but keeps his eyes stubbornly fixed on the ground. They eat in silence. The hunter goes to wash the dishes in the river and loads the packs on Daisy again before coming to squat in front of the child.

‘Look. I’m sorry about yesterday. I didn’t know you were scared of cars. It wasn’t going to hurt you though.’
‘Metal hurts you and then you get strong.’
‘I…,’ Dave hesitates, at a loss for words. ‘Anyway, we don’t need to take the car. We’ll just get Daisy to take us, okay? But it’s going to take quite a while. At least a week, maybe longer.’

Prompto looks up for the first time at the mention of the chocobo.

‘That’s okay,’ he says with a serious nod. ‘I like riding Daisy.’
‘That settles it then.’

Dave is laughing. Prompto is still confused. He’s not being punished and he gets to ride Daisy again. It sounds too good to be true, but he has nothing to gain by questioning it.

*

The next couple of days pass relatively uneventfully. They ride Daisy, mostly cutting across the countryside, occasionally meeting a road for a few miles. Prompto asks about everything he sees, more often than not confusing Dave about exactly what he’s pointing at. A few times, a curious beast gets a bit too close and they have to gallop away making Prompto laugh brightly.
In one memorable occasion, they even glide off a cliff as a shortcut. Prompto’s eyes are as wide as they can go. When they land - unscathed - he pats Daisy’s neck with an awed ‘good girl’.

They stop often and don’t ride for more than six hours a day. Dave makes sure to not tire the chocobo out. Her extra charge is small but over such a long trip, it’s not negligible. He also makes Prompto run around to find flat pebbles and shows him how to skim them across water. The child doesn’t realise all the efforts that go into tiring him out.

Prompto doesn’t like the tent. It’s cramped and it’s got a door like a trap. It brings back bad memories. He refuses to go in it and sleeps bundled up against Daisy instead. Dave doesn’t insist.

The third day, the weather takes a turn for the worse. Heavy, dark clouds invade the sky. Rain spreads fast across the horizon, rushing towards them. Prompto doesn’t mind the rain, but the overcast scares him. It siphoned the light away in an instant. Midday is masquerading as twilight.
Yet, nothing compares to the terror elicited by the blinding white flash that suddenly illuminates the landscape. Prompto screams and curls on himself, fighting Dave’s attempts at steadying him. When thunder rolls in, loud and close, Daisy spooks forward. It takes a few strides for Dave to reign her in. They manage to stay seated by pure luck. Prompto is shaking, clinging to the saddle, eyes closed and whispering an unending litany of ‘no, no, no, no’.

‘You hang in there, kid. I’ll find us some shelter.’

They change direction, head for the road, cutting through squalls of driving rain. Despite Dave’s attempts at closing his jacket around the two of them, they’re completely soaked and freezing. Daisy is no better. She periodically shakes her head to clear her eyes of rain. Even the leather of the packs is dripping. After a couple of hours, the welcome lights of a motel finally pierce through the water curtain that has swallowed them.

They leave the chocobo in the stable with a thick, dry bedding of straw and head inside. The room is cheap and plain but it’s warm and has a shower. Prompto doesn’t resist when Dave makes him take off his clothes and stand under warm water. He can feel his hands again but he’s still prostrate with shock at the spontaneous and unexpected violence of the elements.

‘You’re okay, kid. We’re good now,’ Dave tries.

Prompto nods slowly because a response is expected. He finds himself sitting on the bed, wrapped in a towel. His clothes are drying on the radiator.

‘I’ll go get a shower too. Here, you can watch some TV until I come back.’

Dave flicks through different channels until he finds something suitable for a young audience. It’s a documentary about the Cleigne Harvest Festival. It’s got flowers, animals and pretty food.
Prompto watches the screen turn on. He sits straighter and his brow furrows with a focus beyond his age. He tries his best, but he’s still rattled from their ordeal outside and by the time Dave comes back - ten minutes later - his eyes are full of tears that he barely manages to stop from spilling.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I’ve tried. I’ve tried really hard. But it’s going too fast and I can’t remember it all. And there are words I don’t understand. But I tried so hard. I promise I tried hard. ’
‘What? What are you talking about?’

Prompto points at the screen.

‘The broadcast. It’s not like the normal one. It’s very hard. I remember some of the things but it’s too fast…’ He explains. He can’t keep the tears from falling any longer. ‘It’s too fast.’

Dave frowns and switches the TV off. When he turns towards the bed, Prompto covers his face and head with his arms, a defensive move too obvious to be misinterpreted.

‘I’m sorry,’ the boy repeats miserably. ‘I’m sorry.’

The hunter freezes where he stands.

‘Shit…’ he says, barely loud enough to be audible in the empty room.

He hesitates for a second, but comes to kneel in front of the child, making sure not to touch him.

‘Hey, Prompto. Look at me.’

The boy curls further on himself, bringing his knees against his chest.

‘Prompto, I’m not mad. Look at me.’

This time, the child peers through a gap between his forearms, but he doesn’t relax his pose.

‘You don’t have to remember what you see on the TV. I don’t know who made you do that, but you don’t have to do it anymore.’

Prompto blinks at the hunter as he always does when he doesn’t understand what’s happening.

‘I just thought it’d be fun for you to watch. That’s why I turned it on, not because I wanted you to study it.’
‘I don’t have to remember?’

The boy’s voice is quiet and wet with tears. Dave has to guess most of the words.

‘No, you don’t. And you don’t have to watch it if you don’t like it. Okay?’

Prompto nods slowly, finally letting his arms fall back to his side.

‘Okay.’
‘What do you say we go rub Daisy down? Make sure she doesn’t catch a cold?’
‘Yes, please.’

Prompto wipes his cheeks with the back of his hand. He’s still sniffling but the tears have stopped. His clothes are not fully dry yet, but he doesn’t mind. He just pulls them on as fast as he can. He wants to get away from the TV in case it starts again. Even after what Dave said, he doesn’t want to see the broadcast.
They go down to the stables and spend the next half hour grooming Daisy. As the child calms down, his exhaustion becomes apparent. He yawns repeatedly and leans against the chocobo to stay upright.

‘You need a nap.’
‘Can I sleep here?’

Dave sighs and shrugs. The boy dives under Daisy’s wing, disappearing almost completely in the feathers. The hunter sits in the straw, trying to make himself comfortable. Prompto can hear him muttering before he drifts away.

‘Fuck. Some asshole did a goddamn number on you, kid…’

*

The morning of the fifth day into their trek, Prompto wakes Dave up. He puts a finger on his lips and points.

‘Do not engage,’ he whispers.

The hunter sits up and goes rigid. Just downhill from their camp, the largest Bennu he’s ever seen is scratching at the earth and happily enjoying a dust bath.

‘Do not engage without an express order,’ Prompto repeats.
‘You’ve got that right,’ Dave says softly. ‘Don’t make a sound.’

The boy answers with a serious nod.

Gathering and packing all their belongings takes longer than usual when crawling around and everything must be done in silence. Dave manages to get Daisy loaded up without alerting the oblivious monster. They get out of the camp by the opposite side and keep going on foot for half a mile, taking cover in the long grasses. Finally, the hunter is confident that they’ve escaped the notice of the giant bird.

‘Holy Shiva’s nips, that was a big one.’
‘Soooooo big,’ Prompto says, opening his arms as wide as they go.

Dave tightens Daisy’s girth, picks up the child and puts him in the saddle. They’re face to face. Prompto doesn’t look scared.

‘Hey kid, who taught you that ‘do not engage’ thing?’

The boy opens his mouth, closes it.

‘I must not talk about it,’ he finally says. ‘It’s the rule.’
‘Right. Well, in this world, you leave the engaging to the hunters, you hear me? I don’t care how small or fluffy it is, you don’t have to fight any monsters. Kids only have to play and be happy, that’s it. Okay?’
‘Play and be happy. Is that a rule too?’
‘Oh dear,’ Dave pauses, trying to figure out what to say. ‘It’s more like advice, I guess. Do your best to play a lot and be happy. It might not always work but it’s a good goal.’
‘Okay,’ Prompto says, frowning. ‘I’ll try.’

*

They make it to Insomnia the next evening. Prompto is silent, staring at everything and keeping close to Dave. The scale of the city, even from outside its walls, is astonishing. The twisted power of the Empire cannot compare to the will, the might, that cascade from the ramparts. Prompto can’t put it in words, but he feels the ancient magic woven with the stones and across the skies, worlds apart from the Empire’s stolen and abused curse.

Predictably, they get stopped at the gates.

‘I’ll have to send word to the Commander. He has to approve all entries that are not on our list,’ the guard says after Dave explains the situation. ‘He went to talk to the requisition officer at the Palace but he should be back soon. You might as well wait for him inside.’

The guard lets them sit at a table inside the guardhouse and brings Prompto some paper and crayons. The boy arranges them neatly in front of him. He knows what they’re for. He had to use them before for cognition tests. He liked cognition tests. They didn’t hurt. Sometimes, they were even fun. He didn’t like that Bushy was in a bad mood afterwards, shouting that they were not trying to breed trick ponies and that being too smart would only make him uncontrollable.
Prompto looks from Dave to the guard, but they’re not giving him any instructions.

‘What are the rules?’ he asks.
‘What?’ The guard sounds confused.
‘I’ve got this,’ Dave says. ‘There are no rules for this either. You just draw whatever you want.’
‘What I want?’
‘Something you like.’
‘Okay.’

Somehow that rule is harder. Something he likes… Daisy qualifies. But none of the crayons are the right colour. Carbuncle. He likes Carbuncle too. It’s difficult but he tries to draw as best he can. He doesn’t think Dave will be mad even if he does well.
The door opens and a man enters. He’s very tall and he wears a lot of metal, a lot more than Dave. He looks mean and scary. The guard stands in a weird position, very stiff, until the newcomer tells him to stop. Prompto keeps drawing, trying not to attract attention. He can hear the conversation well, but he only understands bits of it.

‘Lieutenant-General Cor,’ the stranger says, shaking Dave’s hand. ‘I hear you have a delivery for us.’
‘Yes, sir. An acquaintance of the hunters found that boy and I was tasked with bringing him here. We hoped that with the way the hostilities are going you’d have some provisions made for kids like him.’
‘His Majesty has allocated funds for the care of war orphans. We have a new site opening in a couple of days, I’m sure the staff won’t mind having a guest early.’

The man gives some orders that Prompto doesn’t understand to the guard who does his weird salute again and leaves.

‘Any idea where he’s from?’
‘About that…’ Dave hesitates. ‘First, let me say, that kid is a good kid. I’ve been dragging him around for days, and he’s just a really good kid. But I don’t want to lie, there’s something odd about him.’
‘Odd how?’
‘He knows things he shouldn’t, and he doesn’t know stuff every kid should know. I don’t know what happened to him, but some asshole messed him up good. He’s always talking about rules and about being hurt. He’s terrified of the weirdest things. I don’t know anything about kids, and even less one who’s been through the kind of shit he’s been through. Half of the time I had no idea what to do with him. ’

Cor stares at the boy. Prompto’s hand has stopped, but his eyes are riveted to the paper. He knows better than to challenge the scary man.

‘Son, show me your hand.’

The voice is rough but tries to be gentle. Prompto obeys. He doesn’t look up.

‘Oh yes, he’s got that weird tattoo on his wrist as well. No idea what it means.’

Cor studies the ink for a moment before letting him go.

‘It’s odd. You’ve got that right.’
‘Is it going to be a problem?’
‘Of course, not. The day we start looking for excuses to not look after lost children we will be no better than the Empire.’
‘Thank you, sir. The hunters won’t forget the help you gave us today.’
‘That’s good. Because if what I hear is correct, the war will be coming much closer soon and we might need your help too.’
‘You’ve got it, sir.’

Cor pulls a chair and sits diagonally from Prompto, not too close or confrontational.

‘What’s your name, son?’
‘Prompto,’ the boy says, still looking at the drawing.
‘Good to meet you, Prompto. Have you got a surname?’
‘What’s a surname?’
‘Another kind of name?’
‘Little One.’

Cor suppresses a laugh.

‘Right. We’re going to have to find you a surname then, so we can get you registered properly.’

The man leans in to look at the drawing. He points.

‘Who’s that?’

This time, Prompto looks up. Briefly.

‘It’s…’ the child frowns. ‘I can’t say its name. It’s too hard. But it’s a spirit.’
‘A spirit? Is it a good spirit?’
‘A very good spirit! Sometimes it is in my head, but it’s also in the room. And I can touch it and it sleeps with me. But it’s not here now. It said it would wait for me in Insomnia.’

Cor and Dave exchange a look. Prompto keeps drawing. He adds a red horn to the grey creature. Maybe he’s made the ears too big… but Carbuncle’s ears are sooooo long. He picks up the grey crayon again, makes the tail bushier.

‘You like that colour?’ Cor asks again.

Prompto stops and thinks about it.

‘Its fur is pretty, and soft, and it glows.’
‘It glows? So not grey, more like silver… Let’s work with that,’ Cor says. He pauses for a few seconds, brow furrowed, fingers drumming on the tabletop ‘Argentum, that’s nice and distinguished.’
‘Argentum?’
‘Yes, that’ll be your full name now. Prompto Argentum. You like it?’

The boy wrinkles his nose.

‘It’s long.’

Cor and Dave both chuckle at the lack of enthusiasm. The officer goes to sit at a desk in the corner or the room and fills some papers with the boy’s new name. The door opens again and the guard holds it for a woman to come in. She’s tiny and round with long dark twin braids. Prompto is glad she doesn’t look threatening. He has never met so many new people in such a short amount of time and his head is spinning.

‘You called for me, General?’
‘Anna, yes. Thank you for coming. I know we’ve told you the first convoy of orphans wouldn’t arrive before the end of the week, but could you accommodate this boy for now?’
‘Of course, sir. We’re pretty much sorted. He can help me straighten things out over the next few days.’

Dave steps forward and greets the woman before she can come close to Prompto. He’s a bit gauche but respectful.

‘Hello, Ma’am. If I could… The name’s Dave. I brought the kid. I just wanted to tell you about him. I mean, I’m sure you know what you’re doing, but he’s not exactly a regular kid. So I thought you should know, he doesn’t like tight spaces. If you put him in a room, it’s better to keep the door open. And if you make him listen to radio or TV, you need to tell him he doesn’t need to learn it all, ‘cause he’ll try. And you can’t put him a in a car. He’s scared of cars. I don’t mean a bit either, he’s goddamn terrified, he is. He’ll run away. And I think he’s been hit before, so he gets scared easily. There’s lots of things he doesn’t understand, so in doubt, explain it to him. He’s a smart kid, he catches on quickly and he’ll do what he’s supposed to, but you might need to explain it to him first.’
‘Thank you, Dave,’ Anna says with a knowing smile. ‘The way he won you over, I’m sure we won’t have any problems.’
’Thank you, Ma’am. He’s a really good kid. Prompto, come say hello to the nice lady.’

The boy obeys. He stays by Dave’s side but he can meet the eyes of the woman. She doesn’t seem bad. Prompto feels a hand settling on his head. It’s not the vicious grip of Baldie but an affectionate pat.

‘You need to go with her now, kid,’ Dave says softly.
‘But you’re coming too, right?’

As he asks, Prompto suddenly realises what’s happening. Another uprooting from barely gained familiarity. More unknown. More fear. More worries. He shivers, goosebumps appear on his skin. His eyes sting.

‘I can’t, kid. Got a job to do, more people to help. But I’ll try to drop by sometimes, okay?’
‘Okay…’

The child looks dejected but he doesn’t protest when Anna takes his hand. He must be good even if he doesn’t want to. Dave messes his hair up one last time.

The walk to the orphanage takes almost an hour but Anna doesn’t try to put him in a car. Prompto eats mechanically when she gives him dinner. He’s exhausted and falls asleep as his head hits the pillow. The door of the room has been left open.

*

The next day a soldier drops by with an envelope for Prompto. Anna helps him open it. Inside there’s an orange feather and a piece of glossy paper with Daisy on it, tilting her head to the side, staring back at him. The child is mesmerised. It looks so real.

‘What is it?’ he asks.
‘It’s a chocobo,’ Anna says. ‘I think it’s from your friend the hunter.’
‘Yes, that’s Daisy. But how is she in the paper?’
‘Oh. That’s a photograph, Prompto. You can get a machine called a camera and you can take photographs of the world around you with it.’
‘She’s looking at me.’
‘It’s good, isn’t it? It’s like you can keep a little part of her with you forever. Oh wait, a second…’

Anna disappears upstairs in the room where all the supplies are piled, boxes and boxes of donated supplies. Prompto stares at the photograph and strokes the feather waiting for her. She’s got a large smile when she comes back into the room. The boy has never seen someone so easy to read before. And she hasn’t tried to trick him yet.

‘Since you like chocobos, look what I found for you.’

Anna shows him the bright yellow chocobo plushie she was hiding behind her back. Prompto takes it, fascinated. It’s soft - not as soft as Daisy or Carbuncle, but softer than anything he’s ever held in his hands. He squeezes the toy against his chest and buries his face in its feathers. Anna pats his hair with a small laugh, obviously pleased by his reaction. Prompto smiles. It doesn’t make his cheeks hurt anymore. He’s being good. He peers at Anna from among the fluff.

‘Is she called Daisy too?’ he asks.
‘If you’d like. It’s a lovely name.’

Prompto goes to sit in the corner of the room and hugs the new Daisy. Anna doesn’t tell him off for sitting on the floor. She draws a chair close and starts mending some of the donated clothes the orphanage has gathered.

‘You know, I was thinking, when the other children get here, maybe we could go to a chocobo farm. Have you ever seen baby chocobos?’

Prompto doesn’t know what ‘beebee’ means, so he shakes his head.

‘Would you like to see them?’

As long as they’re chocobos, he really does. He doesn’t look at Anna, but he nods enthusiastically.

‘Great. I’ll see what I can do.’

*

Carbuncle only appears on the third night. Prompto is nearly drifting to sleep when the voice resonates in his mind.

‘Hello, Little One. Oh, should I say “Prompto” now?’
‘You’re here! You said you would come, and then I waited but you were never there, and I thought you wouldn’t come back and I was worried, and…’

The spirit’s blows a caress over the child’s mind that feels like a laugh.

‘I wanted to come earlier, but it’s difficult. Being with you requires a lot of energy. It’s not where I belong.’
‘Where you belong?’
‘Yes, do you remember I told you there was someone else I was looking after? This is where I am supposed to be. I came to see you to help, but it’s not something I can sustain on my own power alone. After tonight, I won’t be able to come anymore.’
‘No,’ Prompto say, his eyes bright with tears. ‘I don’t want to be alone. Dave and Daisy are gone. And now, you’re going to go too and it’s going to be like before…’
‘It’ll never be like before again, Prompto. Soon, there will be other children here. And I’m going to tell you a secret. If you wait for a bit, one day you will meet a true friend. The best kind of friend one can have.’
‘What’s a “friend”?’
‘A friend is someone you’ll always want to spend time with and have with you. You will support and love each other. But the best part is, with a true friend, you will never be alone ever again. Even if you get lost, he’ll come for you.’
‘I want a friend like that.’
‘Soon. It’s a promise.’
‘How will I know who they are?’
‘You’ll just know. Your mind will tell you ‘I must be friends with this person’ and you will do whatever it takes for it to happen. You’ll see.’
‘Okay. I’ll wait. I’ll be brave.’
‘You always are so brave. There’s one more thing, Prompto. You remember what Kimya said? About not talking about the Empire?’
‘Yes. I’ve been good. I know the rule.’
‘That’s good. But it’s very important that we don’t let the Empire track you down. The destiny of the world might depend on it. So no talking about the Empire or about how you got here. The people who helped you will forget. It’ll be like a distant, vague memory in their mind they can’t quite recall. The gods will keep you safe.’

When Prompto wakes up in the morning, he’s all alone. Neither Carbuncle nor Dave ever come back to see him. After a while, his own memories slowly start to fade.

<=========================================>

Fifteen years later…

‘I suppose it’s good to be ready, but don’t get too excited. Who knows if we’re even going to go. My father has changed his mind five times in three days. Ignis says it’s because of new information that’s been discussed by the Council. But apparently, it’s too classified for him to share. I told him I was the Crown Prince and I should be privy to everything. He laughed at me.’

Prompto laughs too.

‘Sorry, mate, but I can’t say I’m surprised. You’re not exactly enthusiastic when it comes to reading the reports he leaves you.’
‘That’s low. I’ve been trying.’
‘Better late than never.’

Prompto ignores the rather rude gesture Noctis aims at him and adds some underwear to the duffel bag. Ignis said they all needed to have an emergency pack loaded in the car just in case they had to leave on short notice. Despite their friend’s efforts to minimise the alarmist nature of the demand, Prompto can’t shake it off. There’s something going on, but he and Noctis are still in the dark.
He hesitates but decides to add his camera bag to the pile. Better to be without it for a few days than to leave on the road trip of a lifetime and not be able to take any pictures.
He knows they’re there, but he still checks the inner pocket for the feather and the yellowing photograph. The chocobo is looking at him happily, as she always does - trapped in the paper, and despite the once bright colours of her feathers slowly fading away with each passing year. That’s all he has from his childhood before he came to Insomnia. Well, that and the tattoo. But he’d rather not think about that particular memento. He turns the photograph over.

‘TAKE CARE, KID.’

The letters are large and blocky. As often, he wishes he’d remember who’d written them. It was so long ago. He carefully puts the items back in their usual place.

‘Don’t you dare leave me behind, young man!’ says an old woman’s voice or rather a pretty good approximation of one.

Prompto looks up. His stuffed chocobo is glaring at him from the bed, Noctis half-hidden behind it. They both snicker.

‘I’m not sure Ignis would consider Daisy an essential item. He said to pack light.’
‘Doesn’t really matter since we’re taking the car. Just take your precious chocobo with you.’

Noctis’s tone is teasing, but Prompto doesn’t miss the push behind the words. His friend knows how much the stuffed toy means to him and he’s never mocked him for it. Prompto takes the plushie and smooths her feathers down. She hasn’t got as many as she used to, but the small medal is still securely fastened to her chest, the one Anna sewed on that reads ‘Prompto’s Daisy’.

‘What do you say, old girl?’ Prompto tells the chocobo softly. ‘Time for another trek?’